London Calling

This week I returned from a week long trip to London. A trip that was planned at the last minute, with no plans upon arrival other than a car service to pick me up and take me to the hotel which was all booked on United Airlines sight. And with that I was off to the races.

**Note** None of my time there did I hear, discuss or care one iota about the Princess of Wales and the endless speculation regarding the photo, if the sightings were real or anything about this situation until I came home and one of the many idiots in the building I live in asked me details about her for reasons I do not know or care. I wish her well but that subject to me is filed under: NONE OF MY BUSINESS *****

The first leg of the trip was to say the least eventful. The woman in the seat in front of me lost her cell phone in a hole in the plane. There was a slight hole in the wall of the interior cabin and that between the plane shell and what I assume was the cargo portion or shell of the plane. The plane had not take off so with that we were delayed and the Flight Attendant informed us that this had happened two weeks prior and they had to remove the seat in which to retrieve it. This time the two Mechanics arrived and went below managed to somehow retrieve it, affix the exterior panel and within an hour or so we were off. With a hole in the plane interior. I landed and checked into my hotel right above Victoria Station, the Covenant. A fabulous location and frankly a fine place to stay as it had all that I needed for the few days I was there

The next day was very unplanned so being that the location was so central, I just walked and found my way to Buckingham Palace and timing what it was I managed to see the changing of the Guards. I informed the Volunteer that we too in America had a similar program only ours is just every four years and to say the least in the words of the former President, I suspect this too will be “wild.” American politics aside it was interesting to observe the way Tourists stood respectfully and acknowledged crowd control by unarmed Officers and that the flow and movement was actually quite seamless. I watched some of it and while I love pomp and circumstance I did wonder what the point and cost of it as Britain’s inflation is high. The rate of exchange for Dollar to Pounds was 1.33 so that I had to add that into the costs of my trip. So for a Medium Latte at Starbucks it was just shy of $6. That said I decided to eat my way through London at the finest Department Stores in the world. There is Harrods food hall that is must, followed by there numerous cafes, I of course chose the PRADA one being that my hat, purse, wallet and cosmetic bag screamed the label. I felt for a moment a little like the ladies of AB FAB, a caricature. But then again I saw plenty others who were by far more so, including the infamous CHAV of Sascha Baron Cohen’s impersonation.

My favorite and perhaps most fun was a Champagne bar in Selfridges on the main floor where I met a fabulous English lass and we pub crawled to of all places Claridge’s, which is a hell of a posh place to stop and sip more Champs. It was a glorious afternoon and one of the many I managed to have despite the rain. Walks to Hyde Park, finding the Tate Museum and the Houses of Parliament where I witnessed another changing of the Horse Guard by total accident and finally spending my last afternoon on Bond street and having more Champagne at the home of all food and tea – Fortnum and Mason. I walked almost everywhere and finding jewels on the way, such as Gail’s Bakery which many locals were amazed that I had discovered this delightful bakery as I went on my morning walkabouts. Which landed me at the Tate that had two major exhibits, one with the art and fashion influence of John Singer Sargeant, the other about Women and Revolt in England from the 60s to the present. I chose the former over the latter and I can say it was as delightful as Gail’s Hot Cross Buns. I believe the Queen is dead but from that exhibit I learned about the Artist through his work, and to say he may too have been a Queen – in a non royal sense. Now I finally understand the “Dandy” reference that was about Men who dressed well and fashionably. We used to call them Metrosexuals. Sure okay. How about a Man who just simply cares about the passions of fashions and how he presents himself; Iconic, and leave it at that. But the exhibit paired the paintings with some of the actual garments worn in the portraits and they were divine. I had a delightful morning that led me to explain to the young attendants that these were the original selfies of the day and when you had money and time you made sure they looked well. We could all use that as an example of patience and good grooming. I on the other hand did not follow my own advice as I only dressed well for one evening at the Royal Opera and it was still very dressed down but upon walking into that infamous hall I was to enthralled to be interested in my fellow Patrons or what anyone was wearing.

That too was spontaneous as I had found my way to the shop I had to go to as it had sustained me during the pandemic – Liberty of London. I have no idea why during the pandemic I bought food, some clothes and the like but as all things are, they just are but a pilgrimage had to made. I had a great time just wandering about and buying nothing more than a book on of all people the designer Yves Saint Laurent. Funny how in England a French ex pat who lived in Morocco and was to me the influencer that I most gravitate to. This being the time of Dior, Chanel and Lagerfeld with numerous films, series, and documentaries, including many Museum exhibits as well on their influence in fashion. Some of it financial as the Houses pay for it and others are due to personal relationships, but this is what draws the eyes. Much like the Singer Sargent one at the Tate it is because much of fashion is about history of the period and how fashion is like all art and pop culture, from it we learn about the larger and more commercial aspects of society. It does seem that while today’s iconic fashion houses came from the same era and still bear their name long after the original Designers/founders have gone. But there seems to be a deep fascination of late with (or maybe always) with Coco Chanel. Watch the New Look on Apple it certainly will change your views on both Dior and Chanel and their time in World War II and the role of fashion in history when it comes that era. Hey we had a similar retrospective regarding Halston so at least we have some comparison although nowhere near as interesting. Or not, depending on one’s level of interest.

From there I found my way to Covent Garden and with that found the Royal Opera House, wandered in and secured a ticket for the final performance of the Flying Dutchman. It was spectacular and the performances were first rate and a production that was much more stripped down than the one I saw last year at the Met and by far more intimate works in this house. I was glad I went.

But for this trip plans and itinerary was secondary and oddly of all things my wanders made food the primary. And when I looked at my credit card statement upon returning, other than the car travel to and from the airports, it was the largest expenditure and yet none for any large expensive dinner. No it was simply indulging all day on treats and snacks with Champagne stops (there was that money and well spent) at varying Wine Bars that seemed to call my name, my personal favorite name – Prada. Yes that Prada and they have a cafe attached to Harrod’s. And even the quinnessential Afternoon Tea I found myself not at a Tea Shop but at the French baker of Macrons, Laudree. How so not English! But it was a delight to sit on the balcony on this cloudy day and watch below the Street Entertainers and the crowds; a great way to be a part of something while not being a part of anything. And after days of wandering, I often stopped at Marks and Spencer (again another Department store) quick stop food shop for a sammie and fruit plate to eat later in my room. There is something about the idea of sitting on a bed, watching bad British TV that seems decadent over sitting a table alone eating any food. Honestly eating out is boring as hell on your own and my first night in the hotel when I thought I would do so by first stopping at the Bar and having an amazing Cocktail they have, a Bourbon one made with my favorite pour, Buffalo trace. It arrives under as cloche and once removed plume of smoke arises and with that it is magic. With that under my belt I assumed I would wander out and find something better than pub food or perhaps even as good, but that was not to be and the story here is what must be filed under trigger warning.

The adage goes, no matter where you go there you are. And it seems that this phase in my life I have few encounters that fall into the category of fabulous and with that I did when I met the young lady at Selfridges’ on Saint Patrick’s day, who compensated for the encounter I had upon my first true day in London. As I said above I was going to stop in the Hotel Bar and either have a small plate and call in a night or cross over to one of the numerous pubs that aligned the block for a meal. It all changed when I made the “mistake?” of speaking to the lone man at the Bar sitting two seats over. He was surprised and I asked if he was a guest or a resident and with that it was off and running. He had been drinking long before I got there and yet it had not lightened the mood, it only enabled the room to become even darker than the lighting despite the windows that looked over the bustling Victoria Station below. Watching the commuters wander to and from was soon to be an irony as the conversation progressed.

We discussed some politics and he announced or declared to me I was a Republican of which I informed him clearly being a Liberal and Feminist that would be near to next impossible, so I knew he did not either understand our party system or was simply drunk. What unveiled throughout our dialogue that he was so similar to the angry white men of late that define our version of Conservatives I often thought I had never left home. He pronounced himself largely successful and had two adult children who were also the same, he was “rich” as he informed me more than once and was 67 with two children under 10 at home with his current wife as his first had died years ago and he had this new family which clearly was a burden to him.

I get that as I am fast approaching 65 I know I could not handle children under 10 and with that know I would not see them become adults. I also wonder why in an age of choice particularly for men at age 45 he would marry and enable/allow or “permit” a woman to have children he did not want nor need. I also can believe a Woman can think she will be fine, he will change his mind and the desire to have a family can be the primary factor and by choosing to do so with an older husband there is a security there that he will or may die but the financials are already in place. Yes folks all Marriages are bargains to be had, negotiations and compromises made. They are in fact TRANSACTIONS. And this is why I have closed my pussy for business.

Over the next two hours or so, I tried my best to be witty, to change the tone and nature of the conversation, but mostly I just thought that the less said, the less mended and his constant remands for me to stop talking and chattering about nothing secured me in the fact that I would at least get some story out of this encounter but it was not one I suspected in the least. The man confessed he was quite suicidal and planned to do so earlier but the school children the terminal stopped him but that he was going to kill himself that night by throwing himself in front of a moving Subway/Tube car.

As a Stranger in a Strange Land expect strange things but even this was not something I could have possibly thought would happen but here I was and yes confessing one’s sins to a Stranger is perhaps a safety valve we all need, the Catholic Church marketed that to great success for Centuries.

He constantly reminded me of that and informed me that we would never see each other again, we had never even exchanged names only where I was “from” and what I did for a living, both of which were deigned with numerous insults on how I spoke/my accent (which when I corrected him that I was actually NOT from New York but Seattle Washington that threw him a loop) and my profession for teaching young people to be Thugs and Gangsters. It was fascinating to watch the anger spew in my direction and dodging those as he was a drunk angry white man and these misdirections were easily tossed aside. But I stayed because of the suicide declaration and I again needed to figure out how to discard that with the least amount of damage – to me. He I cared little about and frankly would have loved to push him in front of a moving tube, but as my Mother said, “Don’t go to jail doing the world a favor.” Or should I say “favour”

But as he proceeded to insult, demean me and of course his wife little was said about the children other than how they might grieve and I offered suggestions other than throwing himself in front of a speeding vehicle and in turn involving all those other strangers as well into his self loathing. He was insistent that it was to be done, the discussion of insurance and how they do not pay on suicides made me realize that the Dutch Courage of massive quantities of liquor is one thing, another if one wants it seen as an accident. So now he has not only instigated me into this but allowed me to be a collaborator for potential insurance fraud. I sat with my drink he offered I assume as payment for services rendered and I ordered a Spring Roll and sat and finished it as he realized that I was done talking, and had said that literally when it arrived. I had enough frankly of it all, food, booze, his company and the miasma of pain he had vomited upon me.

I got up went to where the Bartender’s were standing by the till, inspected my bill, made him pay for my drinks as that was the least of it, I covered my own food and said that he was a problem and perhaps they needed to stop serving him. I left and spoke to the Front Desk about the man and his issues but I was vague and not insistent just passing on the info. And then I walked up and down the staircase to the floor of my room and back to the Lobby, I realized that despite this not America and the fact that if one did call for a “Wellness Check” the Bobby’s do not carry guns so this would not end in the normal way it does here but I did want to absolve myself of any of this – not guilt but responsibility. I took the Agent to the bar door and pointed him the lone soul sitting there, insisted he call Police or a Cab to get him home and away from the Station and the potential for his suicide to be reduced. He is truly mentally ill, very drunk and no one should be liable or responsible for his acts. Not the Hotel, not the Tube Driver or Passengers and especially ME. NONE of us deserve that and with that I left. The next day I stopped in on my way up to pick up wine to take to my room, as I sure as Hell was not planning on sitting there again should he return and want a repeat or whatever… I was told the Police came and he was escorted home. That ends that and with that the story now falls to the one he can make or not with those whom he wished to abandon. They need the right to choose and make that decisions for themselves. His Children, his Wife and the Adult Children can in turn be responsible. I would not wish that on anyone but again that is the choices we make and once you are an Adult you have that right to make choices, to make decisions and be they right, wrong, good, bad or somewhere in between they are yours to make. They are not those for others to do or to assume responsibility. I frequently say, “Are you an Adult?” when someone levels off a complaint that seems relatively easy to correct and solve. Hate your job? Find another one? Hate your wife? Divorce her. We have become children and we now are in search of the perpetual Big Mommy or Daddy who will resolve it all. It explains Social Media just like the Portraits in the Tate, the first selfies. We are all indulgent it seems.

Ah London. Despite it all you are just like us. Good, Bad or somewhere in between.